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The Superman Trilogy, Part I: The Last Son of Krypton


As I'm sort of stuck in the development of my Episode II rewrite at the moment, I felt it'd be good for me to take a break and focus on writing something else I'd been wanting to write for some time now: a screenplay for my own Superman movie.

Suffice it to say, Superman is my #1 favourite superhero, but none of the live-action films have succeeded in capturing what it is about the character that resonates with me; pretty much everything made until recently has been based off of the lousy Silver/Bronze Age Superman -- a version of the character I have absolutely no love for. I suppose that's come to an end with the Man of Steel movie, but I have no interest in Zach Synder's ultraviolent, angsty caricature of the character. So, in lieu of Hollywood taking its head out of its ass, I'm going to create the Superman I want to see myself.

While my version of Superman is largely inspired by the early post-Crisis Superman of the '80s and '90s, I have also incorporated some ideas and concepts from Superman: The Animated Series, Smallville, the Golden Age Superman stories, and -- to a smaller degree -- the Donner/Lester films, the Silver/Bronze Age stories, and Superman: Birthright.

Like pretty much every other screenplay I've worked on, this is a work in progress; the following post is literally going to consist of everything I've written thus far.

Doubt thou the stars are fire,
Doubt that the sun doth move,
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt I love.



On an alien world in orbit around a red dwarf star. A gray-and-blue sphere, it is a rocky, terrestrial planet, roughly the same size as Earth.


Moving at supersonic speed, we travel over the landscape of this alien world. Though much of the land is waste and empty desert — the victim of a cataclysm which devastated the world in ages past — the face of the planet has begun the long road towards recovery. Pockets of cultivated green and red flora — sparse but hardy — dot the landscape; irrigated by canals, they bring some much-needed colour to the otherwise dismal gray surroundings.

Passing beyond a large crystalline mountain range to the north and a dead volcano of solid gold to the south, we clear the wilderness and emerge over the sprawling metropolis of Argo. Composed wholly of chrome and crystal, the city’s towering citadels reach to touch the red sun set in the green sky above.


The flyer, who we can now see is a humanoid woman.

KARA-ZE, with her light blond hair and vibrant azure eyes, is indeed a sight to behold. Strikingly beautiful, she is in her late teens or early twenties. Her long hair pinned up in a French twist, her toned body clad in a skintight black bodysuit, she radiates elegance while still carrying an aura of assertive strength about her. On the front of her bodysuit, standing out against the black material surrounding it, is a white, diamond-shaped shield containing an S-shaped sigil.

As Kara closes in on one of Argo’s citadels — the massive, towering Hall of Justice — she cuts her speed. Coming to a large, open bay window, she glides inside.


Entering the large, spacious chamber, Kara touches down with the delicate grace of a swan made human. Waiting for her, arms held behind his back, is her father ZOR-EL. Clad in a black bodysuit and long red scapular, Zor is a tall, robust, handsome man with the same azure eyes as his daughter. On the front of his scapular is imprinted a stylized sun.

ZOR-EL: (in alien language, subtitled) You’re cutting it awful close, Kara.

KARA: (subtitled) I’m sorry, father. Jor had his transporter decommissioned.

ZOR-EL: (subtitled) The others are waiting.

With that, Zor and Kara leave the bay window and step out into a long, wide corridor.


ZOR-EL: (subtitled) The vessel has been readied for transit?

KARA: (nods; subtitled) The stardrive’s warp field will accelerate the craft to .5 times the speed of light. He’ll arrive at the Colony within a hundred years.

A violent tremor suddenly reverberates through the building, shaking its very foundations. Grave expressions pass over Zor and Kara’s faces. After several seconds, it passes.

ZOR-EL: (subtitled) The earthquakes are worsening. We haven’t much time.

Coming to the end of the corridor, Kara and Zor find themselves before a large, raised hexagonal platform. As they step atop it, Kara raises her left hand, exposing the crystal bracelet around her wrist. With the press of a button, a column of silver light rises from the platform to surround and engulf the pair. Once the column has connected with the corresponding hexagon in the ceiling overhead, the father and daughter are dematerialized, transported to another location.


The sentencing chamber is an immense, dome-shaped chamber — as vast as a large stadium. Built along the walls are high seating tiers which surround two platforms: a relatively small hexagonal transporter platform and another larger platform, this one lozenge-shaped. Amassed on the larger platform, packed in close like sardines in a tin, are over 100 HUMANOID BEINGS. Like Zor and Kara, they, too, are dressed in black bodysuits/scapulars of numerous colours, crests of various design worn upon their chests.

A column of silver light rises from the transporter and Zor and Kara materialize upon it. As the transporter deactivates, Zor and Kara step down and make their way to the others. A single individual adorned in a pale blue scapular — ALURA-ZE — leaves her compatriots to greet the new arrivals. A lovely blonde woman, Alura is unmistakably Kara’s mother and Zor’s wife. Emblazoned on her scapular is the very same S-shield Kara wears.

ALURA-ZE: (subtitled) You made it just in time. Are Jor and Lara —?

ZOR-EL: (subtitled) They’re prepared to send the boy into space. He’ll start off for the Colony while we escape to the Phantom Zone. If all transpires as planned, he’ll be there to open the portal for us when he comes of age.

ALURA-ZE: (sighs; subtitled) If only we could’ve built a ship capable of carrying an adult pilot, made preparations for a mass exodus….

ZOR-EL: (subtitled) We must make due with what’s been given us.

Together, the man, wife, and daughter join the rest of their people on the Phantom Zone transporter.

ZOR-EL: (to Kara; subtitled) Encode the Zone coordinates into the gate.

Pressing a series of buttons set in her right bracelet, Kara activates the Phantom Zone transporter. High overhead, a lozenge-shaped portal of crackling blue-violet energy begins opening like the eye of an invisible giant, casting its kaleidoscopic, hyperdimensional gaze upon the hundred humanoids below.

Just as the portal reaches optimal size, a new tremor — the largest, most violent one yet — strikes the Hall of Justice. As the sentencing chamber vibrates fiercely, the humanoids CRY OUT.

ZOR-EL: (to comrades; subtitled) Quickly — into the portal before —!

Zor’s order is cut short as a section of the chamber’s dome collapses, raining debris on those below. Though the beings’ natural invulnerability protects them from the shattered crystal, technology responsible for maintaining the portal into the Phantom Zone is severely compromised; flickering like the flame of a dying candle, the portal begins destabilizing.

ALURA-ZE: (subtitled) Great Rao!

The worst of the tremor hits and the chamber is rent in half as the ground under it collapses. As a chasm leading straight into the centre of the planet itself is opened up, a great plume of radioactive green ash is spewed from the abyss, catching several of the humanoids unprepared. As one, they SCREAM in agony as the ash burns their skin, their eyes, their entire bodies. Alura is among them.

ZOR-EL: (horrified) Alura!

Screaming like a tortured animal, Alura begins clawing at her face and arms, desperately trying to brush away the glowing green ash which now covers her body. Another violent tremor strikes and Alura is thrown off her feet into the chasm; the radioactive ash disabling her flying ability, she can’t halt her descent into the darkness beyond.

ZOR-EL: (subtitled) No!

Flying after Alura, Zor takes her wrists. Once his hands make contact with the green ash, though, he cries out in pain as it burns him. Instinctively, he releases his wife and she disappears into the void.

ZOR-EL: (crying; subtitled) Alura! Alura!

As Zor hovers in the hair, weeping for his lost wife, Kara — who escaped the ash blast — is flying about, fighting to rescue those who have succumbed to the radioactive particles; like her father, she is failing. Looking up at his daughter, Zor sees the Phantom Zone portal overhead — while rapidly shrinking — is still open.

ZOR-EL: (subtitled) Kara, the portal! Get to the portal before it closes!

KARA: (shakes head; subtitled) The others —!

ZOR-EL: (subtitled) It’s too late for that! Go, please, before it’s too late!

Another tremor hits and the chamber is split in threes. Another cloud of green ash billows up from the depths of the planet and this time Zor is caught in the blast. Releasing a hideous SHRIEK, his powers fail him and he begins falling into the darkness below.

KARA: (screaming; subtitled) Father!

Faster than a speeding bullet, Kara zooms down after her father. Catching him in her arms, she grimaces with pain as the radioactive ash burns her. Bearing with the pain, she pulls her father to her and flies up towards the ever-diminishing portal. Before they reach the portal, the ground beneath them explodes, unleashing a green firestorm. Debris and kinetic energy of the blast striking them, knocking them apart and away from one another, Zor is consumed by the emerald fire while Kara is flung into the portal as it snaps shut.


A great geyser of green energy blasts through the Hall of Justice, consuming two fourths of the building. The earth beneath the Hall then collapses completely and what remains of the citadel crumbles.


Passing from city to city across the face of the whole planet, we see that Argo isn’t the only one succumbing to cataclysm. Great jets of radioactive energy — some coloured green, others red, blue, white, gold, and various other colours — erupt everywhere as the ground splits open, annihilating thousands of buildings and people in the process.


In the apex chamber of a citadel in the city of Xan, we find three individuals — the man JOR, the woman LARA, and the semi-humanoid automaton Kelex — standing before a starcraft. The craft, a rather small vessel, is a peculiar looking item; the main body consists of a large crystal pod, which is in turn affixed to a hexagramal base of solid chrome.

Reaching for a control panel, Jor presses a button, activating the craft’s systems. With a tremendous burst of speed, it rockets up, passing through the open ceiling into the dying sky beyond. As the starcraft disappears from sight, Jor and Lara turn to each other. Placing a hand on his wife’s face, he kisses her. She returns his kiss.


As the ship makes the climb toward space, the planet literally begins breaking apart below. Eruptions spring up all over the world, throwing radioactive debris into the burning air. While the craft’s particle shielding saves it from damage, some of the debris gets caught in its warp field, ensuring that the chunks of glowing radioactive material will follow the vessel to its ultimate destination.


As the starcraft leaves the planet’s gravity field, the stellar body explodes. In an instant, the surface is boiled down and the the atmosphere ignites. What was once an inhabited world is now a molten sphere of radioactive death.

Safe in the tranquil blackness of space, the starcraft and its sole inhabitant set upon their long journey to Earth.


Doubt thou the stars are fire,
Doubt that the sun doth move,
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt I love.



The grounds of a farm on a cold, overcast winter day.

Complete with a quaint, medium-sized house, a large barn, a silo, corn fields, and a wide open pasture, the farm is nothing short of impressive.



The front door of the house as it swings open, allowing a man out into the cold, brisk air.

In his mid thirties, JONATHAN KENT is a tall, ruggedly handsome man with dirty blond hair. Though clad in a heavy winter coat, a pair of thick black wool gloves, and a winter cap, Jonathan still feels the sharp winter chill stab into his bones. Wasting as little time as possible, he closes the door, then with hand crank in hand, leaves the porch for his blue pickup truck, a year-old Ford Model T.

As he gets to the vehicle and inserts the crank to prime the engine, the front door opens yet again, allowing his wife MARTHA out onto the porch. A lovely woman with long auburn hair, crystal blue eyes, and fair skin, she isn’t much younger than her husband. Clad in a warm beige sweater, she still hugs her arms close to her as the winter breeze sweeps over her.

JONATHAN: (surprised) Martha! (beat) I thought you were asleep, honey.

MARTHA: I woke up. Now you mind telling me where on Earth you’re going in this ungodly weather?

JONATHAN: Into town to get some supplies. I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.

Nodding silently, Martha then looks to the sky. The gray clouds, thick and dark, are heavy with the promise of snow.

MARTHA: I think a storm’s about to hit. We really should bring the cattle in before nightfall.

JONATHAN: We’ll do it after I get back.

MARTHA: I think I’ll come along with you. Let me get my coat.

JONATHAN: (frowns) What are you saying?

MARTHA: I’m coming along, silly. (frowns) Is there a reason you don’t want me to?

JONATHAN: No … no reason.

MARTHA: (cocks eyebrow) I’ll be just a second.

As Martha slips back inside, Jonathan remains standing by the side of his truck. Staring at his feet, he lazily kicks at the snow on the ground.

JONATHAN: Dammit….


Entering the urban centre of Smallville, the Kents’ truck cuts through the snow and slush on the roads.


Sitting in the cold cab on the passenger’s side, Martha vigorously rubs her mittened hands together for warmth. Turning to her husband, she regards him with a suspicious gaze. Noticing her stare, Jonathan tries ignoring it, keeping his eyes focused on the road ahead.


Nearing his destination, Jonathan slows down. Coming to a stop, he parks the truck and shuts the engine off. Martha looks out her window. Standing there, identified by the large sign set above the front door, is Nell’s Bouquet, a flower shop.

MARTHA: This isn’t the general store. (faces Jonathan)

JONATHAN: (averts gaze) There’s … Nell telephoned earlier, placed an order. I figured I’d stop here before going to Phineas’.

MARTHA: (perplexed) Placed an order…? (beat) Jonathan —

Not waiting for her to complete her thought, Jonathan opens his door and climbs out, shutting it quickly to keep what little heat he can inside.


Jonathan enters the flower shop, taking care to knock the snow off his boots before walking to the front counter. There, reading a fashion magazine, is ELEANOR POTTER. An attractive brunette, she’s of the same basic age as Jonathan and Martha.

JONATHAN: Afternoon, Nell.

NELL: (looks up from magazine; smiles) Jonathan! What a surprise! (beat) What brings the reclusive Mr. Kent into town — especially in this weather?

JONATHAN: Tulips. Red ones, if you have them.

NELL: (gestures to large, exotic-looking flower) How about a tiger orchid?

JONATHAN: No thanks. Martha’s always had her heart set on tulips.

NELL: (drops smile) Yes, well, they’re a very uncomplicated flower.

An uncomfortable silence develops between them. Saying no more, Nell goes to get Jonathan his tulips.


Reading a magazine — the very same magazine Nell was reading in her store, oddly enough — Martha doesn’t notice Jonathan return. Opening his door, he slips inside and then, with perhaps too much haste, presents her a bouquet of beautiful red tulips.

JONATHAN: Happy anniversary, sweetheart.

MARTHA: (eyes widen) Jonathan! (takes flowers) This is why you wanted to go into town alone.

JONATHAN: (smiles thinly) I was also going to pick up a bottle of wine. (beat) It was going to be a surprise.

MARTHA: Oh, darling, I’m sorry. (kisses Jonathan) Thank you.


After several decades travelling through the void between worlds, the crystal-and-chrome starcraft has finally arrived in the solar system. Having spent the last few hours passing through the outer planets, it is now making its way past the red planet and its twin moons.


Having returned from town and traded the truck in for a pair of horses, the Kents now ride through the pasture, rounding up their cattle and herding them back towards the barn. The sky is now a deep, dark gray and snowfall has begun.


As the starcraft approaches Earth, its warp field disengages. No longer held in place, the varicoloured radioactive fragments of the dead alien world disperse. As the vessel enters the atmosphere, so do they, each on trajectories which will take them to different corners of the globe.


Just as the Kents finish directing the remaining wayward cows and steers into joining the rest of the herd, a large fireball comes streaking down from the sky above. Their jaws dropping, Jonathan and Martha watch as the spaceborne object passes overhead like a fallen angel, crashing with a resounding BOOM at the far end of the pasture.

MARTHA: (shocked) What in —‽

Overcoming her initial shock, Martha digs her heels in her horse’s sides; with a burst of speed, she begins galloping towards the crash site.

JONATHAN: (alarmed) Martha, what are you doing‽ Martha!

Kicking his own horse into gear, Jonathan takes off after his wife.

Minutes later, the Kents arrive at the site. There before them, smoking and stinking of scorched earth, is a large crater. Climbing off their horses, they approach it and the object nestled inside.

JONATHAN: Oh my God….

MARTHA: Jonathan, what is it?

Standing inside the crater, its surface unmarked and unscathed by either the entry or crash, is the starcraft.

JONATHAN: It looks like a type of rocket.

MARTHA: Rocket?

JONATHAN: Like the one in that story — the story about the scientist who flew a rocketship to Venus. It’s in one of my magazines.

Stepping into the crater, Martha makes her way to the strange craft.

JONATHAN: Martha! Stay clear!

MARTHA: (peers into pod) But look, Jonathan! There’s something inside! Something alive!

Climbing down into the crater, Jonathan joins his wife by the vessel. Looking into the murky crystal pod, he, too, can just barely make out something alive and moving within.

JONATHAN: Maybe it’s a dog or monkey. The scientist in the story used them to test how rocket travel affected living beings. (touches pod) That’s funny — it’s cool. With how it came in all afire, you’d think —

Before Jonathan can finish his thought, the crystal under his touch liquefies, drawing away from him. Alarmed, he jumps back. A perfectly round hole opened in the pod’s side, one can now see clearly the nature of the creature inside. Curled up in a ball, dressed in a black bodysuit which conceals all but its face, is an infant child.

MARTHA: (surprised) Oh, Jonathan — it’s a baby!

Reaching into the pod, Martha takes hold of the child and lifts him out. Almost immediately, he starts CRYING.

MARTHA: (cradles child) Those monsters! They put a poor little baby in a rocketship, and then they shot him off to the moon or somewheres! What kind of people are they‽

Holding the baby to her, Martha begins rubbing his back. In moments, the child’s wailing begins to subside. Very soon he is calm and peaceful, asleep with his face nestled in her bosom.

JONATHAN: I — I’ll ride back and bring the truck around.


Martha and Jonathan are now seated inside the truck, riding back to the homestead. With the baby asleep inside her arms, she smiles.


Pulling up beside the house, Jonathan and Martha climb out. The snow falling heavy now, the wind blowing fierce, it’s all but apparent that a fierce blizzard’s hit Smallville.

JONATHAN: Get inside the house, Martha. I’m going to make sure the animals are okay, then I’ll join you inside.

Bracing her and the child against the biting wind, Martha runs to the house while Jonathan shields his face and sprints over to the barn.


Tossing a log into the blazing fireplace, Jonathan rubs his hands together for warmth before crossing over to his armchair. Sitting down, he looks across at Martha, who sits on the sofa, feeding the baby a bottle.

MARTHA: (smiling) It’s a good thing we hung onto those bottles Nancy left here last week. There’s no way we’d be able to go to the store for some in this blizzard.

Jonathan doesn’t know what to say, so he just looks upon his wife and the foundling child, a thousand thoughts all coursing through his mind.

Doubt thou the stars are fire,
Doubt that the sun doth move,
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt I love.



Night has passed and a new day has begun. With the blizzard over, Jonathan gets in his truck and begins moving up the long driveway which will get him onto the road into town. He only gets a fourth of the way up the driveway, however, before his wheels sink into the heavy sheet of fresh-fallen snow, refusing to go any further.


JONATHAN: (frustrated) Sonuva— (shifts gears) Let’s try that again.

The engine roars and the tires spin, but the vehicle refuses to proceed any further through the fresh, glittering snow.

JONATHAN: (sighs) Wonderful.


Martha is sitting cross-legged on the floor, playing with the baby, when Jonathan walks in.

JONATHAN: The truck got stuck in the snow and I can’t get it out. We won’t be going into town for a while.

MARTHA: (frowns) But the child — we haven’t enough bottles.

JONATHAN: (sits down on sofa) We’ll rustle up some homemade baby food from the preserves in the fruit cellar.

MARTHA: But Jonathan —

JONATHAN: (angry) It’s a full day’s walk into town, Martha, and that’s with a clear road! (beat) It’s the best we can do for the boy right now.

A moment of silence passes between the man and wife.

MARTHA: It’s going to be a while 'til we can leave.

JONATHAN: I reckon it’s gonna take 'til the first spring thaw before I get the truck free of the snow.

MARTHA: So we’re in for the long haul.

JONATHAN: There’s enough feed to keep the animals the next few months and we’re well stocked up. (beat) We’ll be fine, Martha. Perfectly fine.

As Martha looks upon the baby boy crawling about the carpeted floor, her face solemn, he looks up at her and gives her a big, toothless smile.

MARTHA: From your lips to God’s ears, Jonathan.


As the winter months pass by, Jonathan works to keep the animals fed and the firewood stocked while Martha attends to the needs of the boy. Day after day, week after week, both Martha and Jonathan find themselves growing evermore attached to the child.


It is now early March and the sky is a clear, sunny blue. Jonathan makes his way to the truck.

JONATHAN: (rests hand on truck) Well, girl, let’s see how Old Man Winter’s been to you.

Turning the crank, he then slips inside and turns the key, automatically bringing the engine to life. Shifting gears, he backs up.


Martha is at the table, feeding the giggling baby boy, as Jonathan strides in. Putting the spoon in her hand down, Martha turns to acknowledge her husband.

JONATHAN: The snow’s receded, Martha. I’ll be able to … to take the child into town. Sheriff Miller’ll know what to do for him there.

Returning to the child, Martha takes a napkin and cleans his mouth.

MARTHA: You’re right. After all, we can’t keep him. It’d be irrational. Hell, it’d be insane. A baby boy fell from the sky; we just can’t keep him. (beat) Even if it was monstrous for someone to put a child in a rocket….

JONATHAN: Martha….

MARTHA: (cont’d) Even if the Birches are on their fourth and I … (crying) and I can’t keep a child.

Overwhelmed by her emotions, Martha walks out of the room.



Collapsing onto the sofa, Martha stares into space as tears stream down her face. Joining her, Jonathan places an arm around her shoulder.

JONATHAN: Good Lord, Martha, do you realize what you’re asking that we do? We don’t even know if he … if he’s from here. We don’t know —

MARTHA: (faces him) No, we don’t. We don’t know where he came from or if anyone will come for him, but if there’s anyone who might stand a chance to do right by that child, come what may, it’s you and me. Don’t … don’t you just know it? (beat) Don’t we deserve a chance to try?

Rising, Martha leaves Jonathan and walks over to a liquor cabinet. Opening it up, she takes a tall bottle of whiskey and a pair of glasses. Taking a seat in the armchair, she places the glasses and bottle down on a small table beside it.

JONATHAN: What’s the whiskey for?

MARTHA: (fills a glass) If we decide to keep the child, I’m going to pour you a glass and we’re going to celebrate. If we don’t … whiskey’s more convenient and less painful than a log to the head. (beat) While you take him into town, I’ll be doing everything in my power to forget the last couple of months ever happened.

As Martha takes a sip of her whiskey, Jonathan sits there, looking on her with brow furrowed in thought. Moments pass, then he gets up. Crossing over to her, he takes up the bottle of whiskey and the empty glass.

JONATHAN: I don’t want to be called “pop” — I’m not an old man. (fills glass) “Pa” has a nice ring to it.

Her face lighting up with a full grin, Martha raises her glass. Returning her grin with a smile, he brings up his own glass, clinking it against hers in a toast to their new parenthood.


A lean, balding man in thick glasses stands before the front counter as Nell wraps a bouquet of flowers for him. Once she has finished securing the wrapping paper in place, she brings the bundle of beautiful flowers to the front and presents them to her waiting customer.

NELL: That’ll be $1.30.

As he hands her the money, she hands him the flowers.

DAN: You have a good day, Nell.

NELL: You too, Dan.

As Dan leaves the counter and walks out the door, another customer — a short woman with shoulder-length blond hair — walks in. With barely contained enthusiasm, she strides up to the counter.

NELL: Hi, Rose. What can I do for you today?

ROSE GREER: (grins) Did you hear the news?

NELL: What news?

ROSE GREER: The Kents came in today.

NELL: The Kents? What about them?

ROSE GREER: Remember that storm four months ago? The big one?

NELL: The one that toppled the tree in my sister’s backyard?

ROSE GREER: (nods) It snowed in the Kents’ farm somethin’ fierce — buried it beneath a quilt of snow. That’s why they haven’t been in town since it hit; they couldn’t drive out.

NELL: And so?

ROSE GREER: You won’t believe what’s happened.

NELL: (loses patience) Well out with it!

ROSE GREER: They had a baby!

NELL: (taken aback) A baby? Martha?

ROSE GREER: Uh-huh. Looks like Jon put the bun in her oven some months back. (beat) You remember the ugly business with the miscarriages and that stillbirth —

NELL: Yes, of course.

ROSE GREER: (cont’d) Well, not wanting to give anybody’s hopes up, they decided to keep it hush-hush — you know, just in case it didn’t keep. (beat) Anyway, Martha delivered a baby boy while cooped up in that there farm. He’s got the most gorgeous blue eyes.

NELL: You’ve seen him?

ROSE GREER: Well, no — that’s why I came to see you. I thought you’d like to pay Jon and Martha a visit with me.

NELL: Why, certainly. (smiles thinly) Why not?


Having arrived together, Nell and Rose walk up the porch steps to the front door. Rose brings up her closed fist, announcing their presence with three quick RAPS on the door. A moment passes, then Jonathan answers the door.

JONATHAN: (grins broadly) Nell! Rose!

Leaning forward, he gives both women a quick hug.

JONATHAN: You came to see the baby?

ROSE GREER: (grins) But of course. Can we come in?

JONATHAN: Follow me into the living room!

With no further need of persuasion on his part, the two women enter the Kent home.


As Jonathan leads Nell and Rose inside, we find several family members and friends gathered around Martha, who sits on the armchair with the baby boy bundled up in her arms. As Rose and Nell approach the mother and child, their mouths fall agape.

NELL: Martha … the boy …

ROSE GREER: He’s beautiful.

MARTHA: (beams) Thank you.

Standing at Martha’s side, Jonathan rests a hand on her shoulder.

JONATHAN: Eleanor Potter, Rose Greer, meet Clark Joseph Kent.

As the two women look down upon them. Clark meets their gaze and, smiling a wide, toothless smile, releases a GIGGLE of delight.

Doubt thou the stars are fire,
Doubt that the sun doth move,
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt I love.



Over thirteen months have passed. Nearing the end of a mid-April day, the sky, though partially overcast, is aglow with the light of an obscured setting sun.

Making her way down the long driveway to the Kent’s home, the bright chartreuse paint job of her bicycle making it glare like a beacon against the drabbier surroundings, is ROSALYN, a slim, eighteen-year-old girl with long, blond hair. As she breaks to a halt beside the Kent’s blue Ford, she announces her arrival with a short series of loud HONKS from her bike’s horn.


Martha, dressed in an elegant red dress with her auburn hair perfectly styled, hears the honking outside.

MARTHA: Jonathan! The babysitter’s here!


Jonathan, dressed in an elegant brown suit, stands before a full-length mirror as he desperately tries tying a bow tie around his neck.

JONATHAN: (frowns as knot slips) I’ll be right down, honey!


MARTHA: Are you having trouble with your bow again?


JONATHAN: It’s alright, Martha! Just give me an extra second!


Climbing off her bike, the slim blonde makes her way onto the porch and knocks on the door.


Martha opens the front door. Rosalyn smiles broadly.

ROSALYN: Hi, Mrs. Kent.

MARTHA: Hello, Rosalyn.

ROSALYN: (peers over Martha’s shoulder) Where’s Mr. Kent?

MARTHA: He’s upstairs getting dressed. He’ll be down momentarily.


Jonathan, his endeavour to tie his bow tie meeting with failure, grows irate.

JONATHAN: Goddamn stupid sonuva—!


Turning away from Roz, Martha looks toward the stairs leading up to her and Jonathan’s bedroom in the storey above.

MARTHA: Jonathan? Rosalyn’s here. Are you ready to go?


JONATHAN: (yells) No! (beat; calmer) No, sweetheart! Not yet!


MARTHA: (faces Rosalyn) I’m going to see what’s taking my husband. You come right on in and make yourself comfortable.

At that, Martha leaves for the stairs.


Martha enters the bedroom. Turning around, Jonathan greets her with a big, black tarantula dangling from his neck.

MARTHA: (sighs) Oh, Jonathan.

Approaching her husband, Martha undoes the scrambled ribbon around his neck and begins reconfiguring it into an actual bow.

JONATHAN: I never was very good at tying regular ties let alone these danged bows.

MARTHA: You’re just flustered — worried that something’s gonna happen to Clark while we’re away.

JONATHAN: This’ll be the first time we’ve ever been away from him. What if something goes wrong, Martha?

MARTHA: Nothing’ll go wrong, Jonathan. Roz’ll take good care of our boy.

JONATHAN: (frowns) I’m not sure I trust that girl, Martha. Are you sure she’s on the up-and-up?

MARTHA: She’s babysat for Sarah and Rose’s girls, Jonathan, and they’ve had nothing but the best to say about her.

JONATHAN: She’s not a nymphomaniac, is she?

MARTHA: (giggles) Oh, Jonathan, stop fussing so over the babysitter! Rosalyn’s a good, clean girl; she wouldn’t do anything like that, especially not in our own home.

JONATHAN: (sighs) I guess you’re right. (beat) Besides, we’re in need of a break. Clark’s proven himself quite the handful this past year.

MARTHA: It comes with the territory. (finishes tying tie) There — good to go.

Turning back to the mirror, Jonathan inspects himself. Making a few slight adjustments to the black bow tie, he turns back to Martha, takes her in his arms, and plants a kiss squarely on her lips.

JONATHAN: Let’s go see the babysitter before she performs a striptease for our son.

MARTHA: (grins) You’re incorrigible, Jonathan Kent.


Rosalyn stands in the centre of the living room, looking in over Clark who crawls about in his playpen. The boy, having grown over the past several months, now sports a full head of rich, black hair. Clad in a powder blue romper, wooden and stuffed toys scattered all about him, he grins and giggles up at the teenaged girl standing over him.

JONATHAN: (O.C.) I see you two’ve already made acquaintance.

Turning around, Rosalyn finds Martha and Jonathan standing together in the doorway.

ROSALYN: (grins) Gosh, you two look great! Like a pair of bona fide Rockefellers!

MARTHA: (beams) Thank you, Roz. Thank you very much.

Sensing the presence of his parents, Clark stands up in his pen on what are incredibly sturdy legs for a child his age. Leaping up, he tries to grab hold of the pen’s rim to pull himself up and over.

CLARK: Ieiu! Ieiu, ieiu!

ROZ: (frowns) Jee-joo?

JONATHAN: Clark says that whenever Martha’s around. Just baby talk.

Crossing over to the playpen, Jonathan bends over and, smiling, playfully tugs on Clark’s right hand.

JONATHAN: Hey, little man, cut that out, alright?

CLARK: Ukr! Ukr, ukr, ukr!

JONATHAN: He says that whenever I’m around.


Jonathan, Martha, and Rosalyn step out of the house and make their way down the steps.

MARTHA: (to Rosalyn) Remember, if anything happens — anything at all — just reach us at the number we left you.

ROSALYN: Will do, Mrs. Kent.

Crossing over to the Ford, Jonathan opens the passenger door for Martha. Stepping forward, she slides on inside the vehicle, accidentally flashing her long, fair legs as she does so. Once she is fully inside, Jonathan closes the door and walks on over to the front of the truck to crank the engine. Once that is done, he climbs inside and starts the Ford up.

ROSALYN: Have a good time!

Pulling out of the driveway, Jonathan waves to Rosalyn as he makes his way up the driveway. Grinning broadly, she waves back.


After feeding Clark his supper, Rosalyn cleans the baby up and takes him out of his high chair.

ROSALYN: That was a great supper, wasn’t it, Clarkie? Strained carrots and spinach! Yum-yum!


Making her way into the living room, Rosalyn returns Clark to his playpen.

ROSALYN: You be a good boy, now, Clark. I’ve just got to make a telephone call to a friend, then I’ll be right back, okay?

Grinning, Clark GIGGLES. Smiling down at the baby boy, Rosalyn then leaves him to himself.


ROSALYN: (on phone) Hello, Chuck, is that you? Good, great! (beat) Yes, I’m at the Kents’ place. Yes, they’re fine folks. (beat) Oh, no, Clark’s been no trouble at all tonight; he’s a perfect dear.


Standing in his playpen, Clark begins jumping up and down in it again, trying to snag hold of the wooden edge each time he comes in reach of it.


ROSALYN: Yes, I wish you could come over, too. It’s rather dull here. (beat) No, Chuck, I don’t think so. (beat) Yes, I did say that, but you still can’t come over. (beat) I still think it’s a bad idea. Remember last time, when I was babysitting Whitney? His parents almost caught us. (beat) You said that that time, too, Chuck. I’m not putting my neck on the line for you again.


Having caught a firm hold of the playpen’s rim, little Clark pulls himself up. Reaching the top, he topples over, landing on the carpeted floor on the other side. Getting up on his feet, he begins walking over to the sofa. Reaching it, he hauls himself up onto it and then, smiling innocently, crawls to Rosalyn’s purse resting against the far armrest.


ROSALYN: Look, Chuck, I can make it up to you. I’m staying over at Susie’s house Saturday night. Her parents are out visiting relatives in Salina, so we’ll be all alone; you and Calvin can come on over. (shocked) Nothing doing!


Fishing around inside the purse, Clark finally settles on something which catches his eye. Lifting out a stick of paper-wrapped lipstick, the baby grins and giggles with pleasure.


ROSALYN: Yes, Chuck, I’ll see you, too. Later, now. Bye-bye.

Hanging up the phone, Rosalyn exhales with exasperation.


Stepping inside the living room, Rosalyn doesn’t immediately digest the sight which awaits her. After a moment passes, however, it sinks in and she freezes. Her mouth falling agape, eyes virtually bulging from their sockets, she utters a short, startled gasp.

ROSALYN: I declare!

There, on the other side of the room, Clark kneels before the wall, the stick of vibrant red lipstick in his right hand. Scrawled on the wall, written in complex geometric glyphs, is the same indecipherable word written out over-and-over again. Turning toward Rosalyn, Clark smiles.

CLARK: Clark! Clark, Clark, Clark, Clark, Clark!

Doubt thou the stars are fire,
Doubt that the sun doth move,
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt I love.



We have jumped forward to 1919. Clark is now five years of age and today is his first day of kindergarten. Entering the school grounds, his hand in Martha’s, the young boy takes in the sight of the low brick building and all the children of various ages milling about it.

MARTHA: Here we are, Clark — your first day at school. (looks down at Clark) How do you feel?

CLARK: (looks up at Martha) Why can’t I stay home, Ma? Why can’t you and Pa teach me?

MARTHA: Because all the work we have to do on the farm keeps us busy, dearheart; we don’t have the time to teach you.

CLARK: Can’t you stop working on the farm for awhile?

MARTHA: That’d be nice, Clark, but we can’t. If we don’t work, we can’t pay for food and clothing. Then you’d go cold and hungry.

CLARK: How come teachers don’t have to work? Don’t they have to take care of their farms, too?

MARTHA: Teaching is their job, honey. Different people have different jobs.

Taking his eyes off Martha, Clark looks out at all the children roaming about.

CLARK: There’s so many boys and girls, Ma. What if they don’t like me? (hugs Martha’s leg) I’m scared. I don’t wanna go to school.

Kneeling down, Martha rests her hands on Clark’s small shoulders.

MARTHA: I get scared, too, Clark. I get scared when your pa and I can’t make enough money to pay all our bills; I get scared when it’s dark and I can’t find a light; and I get scared whenever you hurt yourself. But I don’t let my fear control me, Clark; I fight it — fight it hard. I fight it until it goes away. (beat) That’s what you have to do, Clark — fight the fear until it gets scared of you and leaves you alone.

Letting go of Martha’s leg, the boy turns his attention back to the other children.

CLARK: I’ll try, Ma.

MARTHA: That’s my boy.

The school bell TOLLS. Hearing the reverberations, the kids begin flocking into the school to start their first day of class.

MARTHA: That’s the school bell, Clark. You remember what it means?

CLARK: It means to go inside and start class.

MARTHA: You remember where your classroom is?


MARTHA: That’s good. You go now, Clark, and have a good first day. I’ll be back later to pick you up after school’s over.

Tentative, Clark takes a step forward. Turning back, he waves goodbye to his mother. After she waves back, he turns away from her and resumes walking, crossing the grass all the way to the front entrance. Once he has slipped inside, Martha smiles. Turning around, she walks away.


All the children have gathered inside and are seated at their tables. Standing at the head of the class, dressed in a gray-brown suit and a pair of thick-framed, square glasses, is MRS. BOGDANOVE, a forty-something woman with graying brown hair and an immovable rictus grin for a smile.

MRS. BOGDANOVE: (unnaturally enthusiastic) Hello, everyone! I’m Mrs. Bogdanove, your kindergarten teacher! This is your first day in school, and I know you’re not used to being away from home yet! I promise, though, that in time you’ll get used to coming to class and you’ll all learn to have fun while you’re here! (beat) Does anyone have any questions?

Had there been any crickets hiding in the classroom, they would’ve burst into song at that moment.

MRS. BOGDANOVE: (cont’d) No questions? No questions at all? (beat) Alright — okay! That’s just fine! It probably means you’re all excited to get to know one another and start learning! (claps hands briskly) Everyone get up, move from your tables, and pair up with a friend or two! Find a place to get comfortable and tell each other your names, what your mamas and papas do, what your favourite colours are — whatever comes to mind! Share and learn! Share and learn!

Under Mrs. Bogdanove’s compulsion, the kids rise from their tables and begin pairing up. Clark, a little more reticent than his classmates, chooses to remain seated while the others spread out within the room. Noticing Clark just sitting there, PETER ROSS — a freckled boy with light blond hair — approaches him.

PETE: Hi, my name’s Pete. What’s yours?

CLARK: Clark.

PETE: My dad owns a creamed corn factory; he makes a lot of creamed corn and packs it up in hundreds of tin cans. What does your dad do?

CLARK: My pa’s a farmer and so’s my ma. We’ve got cows and chickens and corn, too.

PETE: Maybe my dad gets his corn from your dad.

CLARK: Maybe.

PETE: What’s your favourite colour, Clark? Mine’s green.

CLARK: Red’s my favourite. (beat) No, blue. (frowns) Maybe yellow?

Pete just stands there, staring at Clark. Clark goes silent, freezing up. Then, from out of the blue, Pete begins LAUGHING, guffawing uproariously. The tension broken, Clark LAUGHS right alongside him. Laughing like a pair of hyenas, tears begin running down their faces as everyone else in the room turns to regard them as if they were the strangest two young boys on Earth.


Some time has passed and the kids of Mrs. Bogdanove’s class have been let out for recess. Walking together, Clark and Pete make their way to the swing set. As they near the swings, they find BRAD WILSON, WHITNEY FORDMAN, and JASON TEAGUE — all in the first and second grade — surrounding and picking on KENNY BRAVERMAN, a small black boy from their class.

BRAD WILSON: How’s your first day in school, boy? Learn anything yet?

WHITNEY FORDMAN: Yeah — you learn where your jungle is on the map, Sambo?

KENNY: (stammering) P-p-please — lemme alone! I didn’t do anything to you!

JASON TEAGUE: You don’t belong here. This is a normal school for normal kids.

BRAD WILSON: Get outta here!

Lunging forward, Whitney shoves Kenny, knocking him to his stomach. Stooping down, he places a hand on the back of Kenny’s head and begins pushing his face into the earth.

WHITNEY FORDMAN: Eat it, nigger! Eat the dirt you’re made of!

As the older kids heap abuse on Kenny, Clark and Pete stand there, frozen, unsure of what to do.

PETE: Maybe we should help him.

CLARK: I don’t know….

As the two five-year-olds ponder on what to do, LANA LANG — a cute girl with bright red hair who is also from their class — strides up to the bullies, an expression of angry indignation creasing her round face.

LANA: You leave him alone, you meanies!

Grabbing Whitney’s collar, Lana pulls back, trying to yank him off Kenny. Grabbing her collar, Brad easily pulls Lana away from his friend. Flailing her clenched fists about in the air, Lana tries connecting with the punk’s nasty face without success.

LANA: I’m telling on you!

BRAD WILSON: G’wan, carrot-top — beat it!

Grabbing Lana by the face, Brad pushes her back. Sprawling, she falls to the earth. Finally deciding that enough is enough, Clark leaves Pete’s side. Clenching his fists and holding his head high, he approaches the three bullies and their victim.

CLARK: Leave him alone!

Nearing Whitney, Clark shoves him, calling up all the strength available to his small body to knock the larger boy off the black boy. Unprepared for the attack, the bully is pushed over on his side.


Offering his hand to Kenny, Clark helps him to his feet. Positioning himself in from of the smaller boy, he acts as a shield between Kenny and the three bullies.

CLARK: (points at Brad) If you don’t leave him alone, I’m going to tell Mrs. Bogdanove about you.

BRAD WILSON: (mocking) Ooh, you’re gonna tell Mrs. Bogdanove about us! (sneers) Go ahead, nigger-lover — tell her.

Brad violently grabs the front of Clark’s shirt. Baring his teeth, Clark slaps the rude hand off him.

CLARK: Don’t touch me again!

As one, the three older boys crowd in on Clark, prepared to beat the living tar out of the defiant kindergartener. Before tensions can escalate that far, one of the school teachers appears on the scene.

TEACHER: (approaches children) What’s going on here‽ What are you boys up to‽

The trio backs away from Clark and Kenny.

JASON TEAGUE: (grins) Nothin’. We’s just playin’ with the new kids.

BRAD WILSON: Yeah, we’s just playin’. (narrows eyes at Clark) Ain’t that right?

Clark stares bullets at the older boy, not speaking a word.

TEACHER: Play or no, there’ll be no rough housing on this playground. Do I make myself understood?

BRAD WILSON: (eyes on Clark) Yes.

Satisfied, the teacher departs. Once the instructor is out of earshot, the first boy looms menacingly over Clark.

BRAD WILSON: (pokes Clark in chest) You and your dog get a pass this time, runt. Next time, we’ll pummel you both into ground chuck.

At that, the three older boys move off. Once they’re gone, Clark turns to Kenny.

CLARK: You okay?

KENNY: Yeah. Thanks.

CLARK: What’s your name?

KENNY: Kenny — Kenny Braverman.

Moving in, Pete and Lana join Clark and Kenny.

PETE: It’s super how you stood up to them, Clark! I wish I was as brave as you!

LANA: (hugs Clark) I like you! You can be my boyfriend!

The amount of attention and affection proving to be too much for him to handle, Clark blushes.


Hours later, Clark sits in the passenger side of the family Model T as Martha drives them back home.

MARTHA: Did you have a good day at school today, Clark?

CLARK: Yeah.

MARTHA: Did you make any friends?

CLARK: Three. First was Pete Ross. His pa owns a creamed corn factory.

MARTHA: Uh-huh. Your pa and I have met Mr. Ross.

CLARK: (cont’d) Then there’s Lana Lang. She’s a girl. She has pretty red hair.

MARTHA: (smiles) She’s Nell’s niece. You remember Nell.

CLARK: Uh-huh. (beat) Then there’s Kenny Braverman.

MARTHA: Braverman? I don’t recognize the name. His family must be new in town.


MARTHA: Yes, Clark?

CLARK: What’s “nigger” mean?

MARTHA: (faces Clark) It’s what some people call Negroes.

CLARK: Is it a bad word?


CLARK: Some big kids called Kenny that. They were picking on him, shoving his face in the dirt. Why were they doing that, Ma?

MARTHA: Well, Clark, some people don’t like Negroes.

CLARK: Why don’t they like them?

MARTHA: I suppose it’s because they don’t understand them. Too many people are afraid of what they don’t understand.

CLARK: If they understood them…?

MARTHA: They’d see them as God’s children, created in His image, just as they are.

CLARK: The boys who were being mean to Kenny — could they learn to understand Negroes?

MARTHA: It’s hard for people to change, Clark, but not impossible. They’d have to want to change first.

CLARK: How can you make a person want to change?

MARTHA: The best you can do is provide a good example and hope they follow it.

CLARK: What does that mean?

MARTHA: It means that if you do good things for good reasons, those boys might think about why you’re doing them. If they think long and think hard on them, they may come around to your point of view.

CLARK: So if I show those kids that Negroes are good, they’ll learn they’re good?

MARTHA: (smiles) Something like that, honey.

Doubt thou the stars are fire,
Doubt that the sun doth move,
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt I love.



A number of months later, Clark sits at his table in his classroom. Strangely enough, only about half of Mrs. Bogdanove’s students are present today, with only one other child sharing Clark’s table: Kenny.

CLARK: (to Kenny) Where is everybody? I haven’t seen Pete or Lana in days.

Kenny, his eyes red, looking as sick as the proverbial dog, COUGHS violently in Clark’s face, spraying droplets of saliva in the other boy’s eyes.

CLARK: (disgusted) Yuck!

KENNY: (runs hand across runny nose) Sorry, Clark.

Hearing Kenny’s coughing, Mrs. Bogdanove marches straight up to their table, an expression of concern worn across her face.

MRS. BOGDANOVE: Kenny, are you feeling alright?

KENNY: Not very, ma’am.

MRS. BOGDANOVE: (sighs) I’m going to give your father a call to come over and take you home. There’s no sense in you being here sick as you are.

KENNY: (horrified) Oh, no, ma’am! Please! I’m not that sick — not really!

MRS. BOGDANOVE: Nonsense! You’ve come down with measles, child, and I’ll not have you stay in this class one minute longer than necessary!

Turning on her heels, Mrs. Bogdanove promptly marches off in search of a telephone. Despondent, Kenny lowers his head to the table, hiding his face in his arms.

CLARK: Oh, c’mon, Kenny. It’s not that bad.

KENNY: You don’t know my daddy, Clark.


Jonathan is seated in his armchair, feet propped up on a footstool, reading through a pulp magazine when Clark and Martha enter the room.

JONATHAN: (faces Clark) Have a good day in school today, son?

CLARK: It was okay, I guess. (beat) There weren’t many kids in class today and Kenny got sent home early; he wasn’t feeling very good. (grimaces) He sneezed on me. That was gross.

JONATHAN: (frowns) He sneezed on you?

CLARK: Right in my face.

JONATHAN: Go wash up.

CLARK: I feel fine, Pa.

JONATHAN: Doesn’t matter. Go wash your face and don’t forget to use soap.

Shrugging, Clark leaves the living room in search of a sink. Martha takes a seat across from her husband.

MARTHA: It’s measles; most of the children have come down with it. (beat) I hope Clark doesn’t get sick.

A moment of silence passes between them.

JONATHAN: Has Clark ever been sick, Martha?


JONATHAN: Really, Martha, think. In the six years Clark’s been with us, have you ever seen him come down with a fever, a cough, a single, solitary sniffle?

MARTHA: (frowns) Of course I have!

JONATHAN: Name a time.

MARTHA: Well, I … I …

JONATHAN: Remember last November, when we were both struck down with the flu? We were so sick we couldn’t care for Clark at all; we had to leave him with your brother, Kendall, ‘til we got over it. Clark, though, he remained chipper as a jaybird. Then there was the March before, when Lana got chicken pox. He surely should have caught it from her; he didn’t.

MARTHA: He’s been lucky, that’s all.

JONATHAN: (skeptical) Mayhap….

MARTHA: Jonathan Kent, what are you saying? That our boy can’t ever get sick‽

JONATHAN: I’m not saying anything. (beat) It’s just queer — damned queer.

Doubt thou the stars are fire,
Doubt that the sun doth move,
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt I love.



We have jumped forward to 1923. Clark and Pete, now in the third grade, ride their bicycles down a gravel driveway to the home of Lana Lang and her parents. Clark has with him a catcher’s mitt while Pete carries a sheathed baseball bat slung across his back. Pulling up to the front steps of the house, they climb off their bikes and go to the front door. Leaning forward, Pete gives the door six solid RAPS with his fist. A stocky man with receding blond hair and a pencil thin mustache answers the door.

PETE: Hi, Mr. Lang.

THOMAS LANG: Boys. What can I do for you?

CLARK: We’re going to the school yard to play some baseball.

PETE: And we need a ball. Can Lana go grab hers and come play with us?

THOMAS LANG: Sorry, boys. Lana’s not here.

CLARK: She isn’t?

THOMAS LANG: She left with the Braverman boy fourteen-odd minutes ago.

PETE: You know where they were off to, Mr. Lang?

Lana’s father shakes his head.

CLARK: Dang….


Clark and Pete are making their way back from the Lang home along a long, empty stretch of open road when Lana, on her own bicycle, comes toward them from the opposite direction.

LANA: (raises arm) Hey, guys!

The boys hit the breaks as Lana pulls up alongside them.

PETE: (annoyed) We were supposed to play ball today!

LANA: Kenny found this swell place! You’ve gotta come see it!

CLARK: What place?

LANA: C’mon, follow me.

Putting the pedal to the metal, Lana turns around and goes back the way she came. Exchanging short glances, Pete and Clark quickly follow along after her.


The two boys and girl ride their bikes along a narrow dirt trail surrounded on both sides by tall trees. Lana soon comes to a stop. Hopping off her bike, she deposits it off to the side of the trail and heads into the trees.

LANA: It’s not much farther now.


The three children soon emerge from the trees into a small clearing. In the centre of the clearing is a small decrepit shack and the rusting remnants of a moonshine operation. As Lana leads the two boys through this landscape toward the cabin, they take the sights around them in with awe.

PETE: Wow. What is this place?

LANA: Don’t know, but isn’t it the neatest? Kenny found it and brought me out here to see it.

CLARK: Where’s Kenny at, anyway?

At that moment, the door on the shack swings forward on it’s rusted, broken hinges with a large SQUEAK. Kenny promptly steps out.

KENNY: (smiles) Hi, guys! Glad you could make it! (holds up jug) look what I found!

As the others join Kenny, he hands the jug out to Clark. Taking it, Clark holds it up to the sunlight so as to get a better look at the contents nestled inside the brown glass.

KENNY: It’s hooch. My grandpappy down in Tennessee made some just like it.

PETE: What do you use hooch for?

KENNY: You drink it, stupid.

Uncorking the jug, Clark brings the spout up to his nose and takes a few short sniffs. As soon as the scent of the liquid hits his nostrils, he cringes.

CLARK: UGH! It smells real weird.

KENNY: That’s what it’s supposed to smell like. (beat) Let’s taste it.

Raising the jug to his lips, Clark takes a sip. He spits it out automatically.

CLARK: It tastes awful!

Repulsed, Clark tilts the jug over to pour the moonshine out. Horrified, Kenny reaches out to snatch it from him.

KENNY: What the hell are you doing‽

Wrestling with Clark, Kenny manages to pry the jug out of the other boy’s hands. It’s too late, though; the jug is completely empty.

KENNY: (angry) Goddammit!

LANA: (shocked) You took the Lord’s name in vain!

KENNY: Oh, shut up. (hurls jug) That was the only one, too.

A moment of tense silence passes between the four.

PETE: So … there’s nobody using this place, is there?

KENNY: (grumpy) Everything’s falling apart. Nobody’s been here in years.

PETE: Then we should make it our own place. Y’know, our own hangout. (beat) Yeah. All we need to do is clear out the junk, spruce the cabin up a bit, and it’ll be good as gold.

LANA: Hey, that’s not a bad idea.

Leaving the boys, Lana walks up to a tarnished green copper still lying on its side in the grass. Taking its handles, she begins pulling on it; with effort, she slowly begins dragging it to the edge of the clearing. Deciding to help her out, the boys join her, each adding their weight and strength to the endeavour to get it out of the way.


Over the next couple weeks, Clark, Lana, Pete, and Kenny return to the clearing to work on converting the disused hooch station into their own private hangout. Together, they work to clear out the old stills and other distilling equipment while trying — with limited effect — to shore up the sagging walls of the shack.

As the long days of work finally come to an end, Clark takes a sign that he has made and hammers it down in the earth in front of the cabin. Written on the front of the sign in big, bold, black painted letters is “FORTRESS OF SOLITUDE”.

Doubt thou the stars are fire,
Doubt that the sun doth move,
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt I love.



Clark, Pete, and Lana sit together in the shack, engaged in conversation.

LANA: (cont’d) Mama and Daddy actually took me to see a movie while we were in Salina.

PETE: (amazed) You actually got to watch a movie‽

CLARK: What was it about?

LANA: It’s about this silly little man with a small mustache who finds an abandoned baby boy and adopts him. They go around town conning people — the boy breaks their windows and the man charges them for repairs, y’see — until the police catch up to them and separate them before they’re finally reunited. They even meet the boy’s mother at the end. (beat) It’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen in my life!

CLARK: I’ve always wanted Ma and Pa to take me to see a movie, but Salina’s too far out of the way for us. (sighs) I wish Smallville had its own movie house.

LANA: Oh, we’ll get one, eventually — by 1978 or so.

PETE: We’ll be old men by then!

LANA: (cocks eyebrow) Not me.


LANA: Huh?

CLARK: The pronoun you’re looking for is “I”, not “me”. You should’ve said “Not I”.

LANA: Well hello, Mr. Fancy Pants English Professor! I bet you don’t even know what “pronoun” means.

CLARK: (smirks) A pronoun is a word that substitutes for a noun.

LANA: You think you’re so smart, don’t you, Clark?

Clark just shrugs, the hint of a smug smile worn at the corners of his mouth. Lana sticks her tongue out at him.

At that exact moment, the shack door creaks open and Kenny steps inside. Moving gingerly, he closes the door and crosses over to the opposite end of the shack, away from the others. Sitting down, we can see he wears a large bruise over the left side of his morose face.

LANA: (concerned) Gosh, Kenny — what happened to your face?

KENNY: (turns bruised side of face away from them) Just had an accident, that’s all. It’s nothin’ to talk about.

Though the three other children have a pretty good idea where Kenny’s bruises came from — that they aren’t just the result of an unfortunate accident — they choose to ignore the elephant in the room, at least for now.


The kids in the shack sometime later.

Clark, Pete, and Lana are currently engaged in a game of strip poker. While Lana has lost only her shoes and socks, Clark has lost his shirt and Pete is down to his underpants. Kenny, having chosen not to play, sits off to the side watching them.

PETE: (frowns) Why did we agree to play this dumb game?

The kids hear a commotion outside the shack.

PETE: There’s somebody outside!

Abandoning their game, the kids hurry to redress.


There are indeed visitors to the kids’ Fortress of Solitude: Brad Wilson, Whitney Fordman, and Jason Teague, older than when we saw them last. Taking no care to watch where he is going, Whitney trips over one of the old stills that was dragged away to the edge of the clearing and nearly topples over it.

WHITNEY FORDMAN: Son of a goddamn —!

Grinning like the Cheshire Cat, Jason gives Whitney a solid kick in the ass. Enraged, Whitney turns on the other boy and shoves him hard to the ground. Before they can get into a committed scuffle, Brad breaks them up.

BRAD WILSON: Cut it out, dingbats.


Having opened the door a crack, Pete peers out.

PETE: Aw, great — it’s the Three Assketeers!

Pete quickly shuts the door and leans his back up against it, bracing it shut.

PETE: (cont’d) What are we gonna do? They’re gonna run us out of here! I just know it!

LANA: They can’t do that!

PETE: Go ahead, tell ‘em that. See how generous they are.

CLARK: This is our fortress; I’m not gonna let them just steal it from us.

KENNY: They’re bigger and stronger than all of us put together, Clark. We can’t beat them.

CLARK: C’mon, they’re gonna find us in here sooner or later; may as well make it sooner.

Pushing Pete out of the way, Clark pulls the door wide open and steps outside.


As the Jackass Three make their way into the centre of the clearing, Clark appears before them. Noticing the younger, smaller boy, they come to a halt.

JASON TEAGUE: Well, well, well — if it ain’t liddle widdle Clarkie.

BRAD WILSON: You by your lonesome, Kent, or is the rest of the sissies with you?

Slowly yet surely, the others step out of the shack, joining Clark.

JASON TEAGUE: (chuckles) Nice bruise you have there, Braverman. I hardly noticed it under your black skin!

Kenny recoils, almost disappearing back inside the shed.

WHITNEY FORDMAN: G’wan, twerps, get out of here! This place is ours!

LANA: (angry) We were here first!

CLARK: We spent weeks cleaning this place up! It’s ours by right!

BRAD WILSON: (to Whitney & Jason) Listen to the runts…. (to third graders) Listen, you clear out — and I mean right now — and I don’t send you home in pine boxes, alright? Now go.

Leaving his friends, Clark walks right up to Brad. Looking up at the taller boy, he locks gazes with him.

CLARK: Look, I know I can’t fight you; you’d easily kick my can, okay? So how about we compromise?

JASON TEAGUE: (puzzled) Compromise?

CLARK: Yeah, we reach a middle ground — you get some of what you want, we get some of what we want. (beat) How about this: You guys can have the place on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and we’ll get it Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays.

WHITNEY FORDMAN: What about Sundays?

CLARK: Each Sunday, we’ll flip a coin. Best three out of four wins. (beat) So what do you think? Can we make that work?

Looming in close, Brad seizes the front of Clark’s shirt in his strong hands.

BRAD WILSON: What I think is I’m gonna enjoy feeding you my knuckles, you little turd.

Brad then punches Clark in the gut — hard. Doubling over, Clark doesn’t even have time to register the blow before the larger boy delivers another — this one right to the face. As teeth fly and blood sprays through the air, Clark goes down.

BRAD WILSON: (points at Lana, Pete, & Kenny) This shack is ours — Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday — got it? Now pick this ninety-pound weakling up and get the hell outta here before you get the same.

Sitting up, Clark puts a hand up to his split lip and bleeding nose. Eyes aflame with hatred, he stares daggers at Brad.


Jonathan and Martha are engaged in a game of chess when they hear the front door thrown open and Clark storm in. Turning their attention away from the board, they see Clark — lip swollen, cheek bruised, and frown as deep and dark as a moonless midnight — stomp off to his bedroom.


Entering the bedroom, brimming with rage, Clark throws himself face-down atop his bed. Burying his face in his pillow, he finally allows himself to CRY.

Doubt thou the stars are fire,
Doubt that the sun doth move,
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt I love.



Some number of weeks have passed and Jonathan is currently behind the wheel of the Model T, driving out into town alongside a large pasture. Just as he rounds a curve, he spies Clark — returning from one of his jaunts with his friends — crawl under the fence enclosing the pasture and take off into a run through the long grass. Hitting the brakes, Jonathan leans over and puts his head out the passenger side window.


Running remarkably fast for a boy of his short stature, Clark is already out of earshot of Jonathan’s cries. Returning to the wheel, he hits the gas and makes a U-turn.


Hearing Jonathan for the first time, Clark halts in mid-stride and turns around.

JONATHAN: Clark, I’ve told you before — don’t cut across old man McCulloch’s pasture!

CLARK: But Pa —

JONATHAN: No “but pa’s” from you, boy. McCulloch’s prize bull is likely to be out and about this time of day. Now come here; I’ll drive you home.

Jonathan hits the breaks, waiting for Clark to obey him. Sighing loudly, Clark throws his arms up in resignation and begins making the trek over to the side of the road where Jonathan is waiting. Unfortunately, it is at that very moment McCulloch’s prize bull makes its appearance. Noticing the small intruder in its pasture, the ornery ungulate breaks out into a full charge towards Clark.

JONATHAN: (mortified) Clark!

Jumping out of the truck, Jonathan hops the fence in a mad dash to save his son, but he is too far away and too late. As the bull comes upon Clark, the boy can’t even so much as turn around as the animal brings its hooves down on his small back, driving him hard into the ground before finally trampling him underfoot.

JONATHAN: (screaming) No!

As the bull disappears into the distance, Jonathan runs up to Clark, tears streaming from his eyes. He is fully expecting to see Clark crushed and bloody, on his way to death’s door if he isn’t there already. Remarkably, Clark is alive, conscious, and completely unharmed. His hair is mussed, his skin dirty, his clothes torn, and an expression of absolute shock etched into the features of his face, but physically, there isn’t a single scratch on him.

CLARK: (terrified) P-pa‽

JONATHAN: Cl-Clark? (beat) You’re … you’re alright?

Dropping to his knees, Jonathan scoops Clark up into his arms. Hugging the boy close to him, he begins WEEPING with extreme joy.

JONATHAN: Oh God! Oh thank you, God!


Jonathan and Clark are now in the truck, headed back home.

JONATHAN: Son, what happened in McCulloch’s pasture … we’re gonna keep that between us for right now, alright?

CLARK: We’re not gonna tell Ma?

JONATHAN: I’ll tell her, son … but only when the time’s right. Right now … the time’s just not right. You understand?


Reaching over, Jonathan rests his hand on Clark’s shoulder and gives it a short rub.

JONATHAN: (half-smiles) It’s alright, son. It’s alright….


Pulling up beside the Kent home, Jonathan and Clark get out of the truck and head up the front steps. Martha, who has been sitting out on the front porch reading a novel, leaps up out of her seat when she sees the condition Clark’s in.

MARTHA: (shocked) Land’s sake, Clark! What happened to you‽

Crossing over to her young son, she begins feeling him over for injuries.

JONATHAN: He just got into a little rough housing with the other children.

MARTHA: (nonplussed) A little rough housing‽

JONATHAN: (shrugs) Boys will be boys.

MARTHA: (to Clark) I don’t see or feel any injuries. Do you hurt anywhere, Clark?

CLARK: I feel fine, Ma.

MARTHA: Alright. (beat) Head on inside. You need to get out of those clothes and into a hot bath right away.

Obeying, Clark heads on inside the house. Exchanging one, short, questioning glance with Jonathan, she follows in after him.


The next day, Clark enters the barn. Pulling one of the big wooden doors open as far his small frame will allow, he slips inside. Taking one quick glance outside to see if anyone noticed him, he then pulls the door closed. Stepping deeper inside the barn, past the tractor and a pile of wooden boxes, Clark comes to the ladder which leads to the loft above. Looking up, he nervously wipes his sweaty hands off on his pants and takes hold of the rungs. Cautiously ascending the wooden ladder, he looks down upon reaching the midway point — and immediately regrets it.

CLARK: (closes eyes) Don’t look down. Don’t look down….

Fighting his fear of heights, Clark resumes the climb and in short order reaches the top.


Stepping onto the loft, he looks down; the distance between him and the ground floor is great enough to make the boy swoon. Walking backward, Clark works his way to the back of the loft.

CLARK: I can do this. I can do this. I’ve got to do this. I’ve got to know.

Tensing his muscles, gritting his teeth, young Clark takes off in a sprint. Crossing the length of the loft in seconds, the boy launches himself off.


Thrown clear into the air, gravity takes hold and Clark plummets — plummets straight down, hits the tractor, caroms off, and crashes hard into the pile of boxes. Completely unharmed, Clark picks himself up. Dusting his clothes off, he looks himself over.

That’s when a fiendish grin comes to his face.

Doubt thou the stars are fire,
Doubt that the sun doth move,
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt I love.



Lana, Pete, and Kenny sit by the edge of a stream. While Pete tries catching some fish using a piece of string tied to the end of a stick, Lana lazily tosses pebbles into the water while Kenny chews at his knuckles. All three are bored out of their ever-loving minds.

Riding on his bike, Clark pulls up beside his friends.

CLARK: Hey, guys! How’s tricks?

LANA: Tricks is bored. (tosses two pebbles in quick succession into stream) Very, very bored.

CLARK: Really? I’ve found this place we can go. It’s bound to be fun.

PETE: What place?

CLARK: I’ll take you there. First, we need to collect some rocks.

LANA: What for?

CLARK: (grins) You’ll see. (beat) C’mon.

Shrugging, the three kids abandon their meagre activities and join Clark in his rock hunt.


Clark and the others ride along the trail on their bikes, pant and shirt pockets laden with as many stones as they can carry.

LANA: (apprehensive) Where are we going, Clark?

CLARK: I told you — you’ll know when we get there.

LANA: But this trail takes us —

CLARK: (interrupts) Hush up!

Resigned, Lana hushes up. They continue along their route in silence.


Reaching their destination, Clark hops off his bike. There before them stands the weathered shack they once called home away from home.

PETE: Why’d you take us here for?

KENNY: Yeah, what’s the story?

CLARK: (frowns) We’re here for compensation.

PETE: Compensation? What‽

Guiding his bike alongside him, Clark approaches the shack with single-minded purpose. Stopping some distance away from the decrepit building, he reaches into a pocket and pulls out some rocks. Pulling his arm back, he then hurls the rocks at the wooden shack, each one scoring a direct hit with a solid THWACK.

CLARK: Hey, you in there — open up!

Brad, Whitney, and Jason quickly come out.

JASON TEAGUE: (pulls blade of straw out of mouth) Well, well, well — if it ain’t the Four Musketeers.

BRAD WILSON: What are you stains doing back here? We told you never to come around no more.

CLARK: That’s “anymore”, you dunce!

BRAD WILSON: (sneers) What was that word you called me, pipsqueak?

CLARK: A dunce, Brad. It’s not too big a word; it means the same as birdbrain, bonehead, dimwit, oaf, and idiot.

BRAD WILSON: (points at Clark) I’m gonna feed you your tongue!

CLARK: Watch the birdie!

Fishing out another rock, Clark lets it fly. Whistling through the air, it hits Brad hard in the face, right in the cheekbone.

BRAD WILSON: ARGH! (clutches face) I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you to death!

CLARK: (hops on bike) Catch me if you can, you great big horse’s ass!

Clark takes off on his bike and his friends follow suit. Crossing over to their own bikes, the three bullies hop on and begin the chase.


Emerging from the woods, the four youngsters come out onto the open road, pedalling as hard as they can to get away from the Three Assketeers.

PETE: That was stupid, Clark!

LANA: Yeah — what were you thinking? Now they’re gonna pulverize us!

CLARK: No they’re not!

As the four ride on, the three older bullies finally come out of the woods behind them. Clark hits the brakes, skidding to a stop.

LANA: (mortified) Clark!

CLARK: (waves them away) Go! Keeping going!

Bewildered, Lana, Kenny, and Pete take their friend’s advice and keep on pedalling, leaving Clark behind to face the Assketeers alone.

Coming upon Clark, the three older boys surround him, trapping him in a circle.

CLARK: (waves at them; smiles) Hey there, gang!

Jumping off their bikes, the three move in upon Clark. Roughly taking Clark by the front of his shirt, Whitney pulls him from his bike.

BRAD WILSON: (enraged) Over there!

As Jason goes to work on Clark’s bike, stomping on and kicking at it, Whitney and Brad take the kid over to the side of the road.

BRAD WILSON: You’re in for a world of hurt!

As Whitney holds Clark firmly in place, Brad clenches his hands into fists and drives a hard uppercut into Clark’s gut. Clark doesn’t even flinch from the blow.

CLARK: (smirks) I couldn’t quite feel that. May I have another?

Frowning, Brad punches Clark in the gut again.

CLARK: I’m sorry. One more ought to hit the spot.

Uttering a low GROWL, Brad punches Clark in the face — a roundhouse punch from the left; then the right; then an uppercut into the chin. When none of those result in so much as a whimper, Brad finally goes and knees Clark in the groin.

CLARK: (grins) Is that the best you have?

Clark throws his head back, bashing Whitney’s nose in. Blood spurting from his broken nose, Whitney lets go of Clark and drops to his knees, crying out in agony. Turning on Brad, Clark leaps onto him, tackling the larger boy to the ground.


Leaving Clark’s dented-up bicycle, Jason rushes to Brad’s aid. Clark sees him coming and spins around just in time to deliver a solid kick to Jason’s chin which sends him over backwards, knocked senseless.

BRAD WILSON: (horrified) What the hell are you‽

CLARK: (sneers) A ninety-pound weakling, remember?

Clark then punches Brad in the face, knocking his head back.

CLARK: (cont’d) Remember that, Brad? Remember‽

Clark punches him again.

CLARK: (enraged) Then remember this: You’re not gonna bully me again; (punches Brad) you’re not gonna bully my friends again; (punches Brad) you’re not going to tease us; you’re not going to taunt us; (punches Brad) you’re not going to call us names like weakling or twerp or carrot-top or nigger; (punches Brad twice) you’re not going to take our fortress, which we cleaned up, which we put together, and drive us out; (punches Brad) and you’re not going to hurt us — never, ever, ever again!

As Clark prepares to deliver the final blow, a large adult hand reaches out and seizes his arm in a tight grip, stopping him. Clark turns around. Standing over him, shock and disgust evident on his face, is Jonathan.

CLARK: (surprised) Pa!

The assault at an end, Brad — face stained with his own bright red blood and running tears — gets the hell out of Dodge, BAWLING as he takes off in a dead run for somewhere — anywhere — where Clark won’t find him.

Angry, Jonathan drags Clark over to the Model T. Flinging the side door open, he pushes his son inside.


Jonathan sits behind the wheel, a deep frown fixed on his face as he drives along the rural road. Clark sits beside him, arms crossed over his chest, a deep scowl worn on his own face.

CLARK: I hate Brad Wilson.

JONATHAN: You must. Otherwise you wouldn’t have turned his face into a train wreck.

CLARK: He threw the first punch, Pa! He took our fortress from us! He’s big —!

JONATHAN: (interrupts) And you’re invulnerable, Clark; you can’t get hurt. You have to take responsibility for your power; you can’t abuse it.

CLARK: You want me to be a loser and a wimp.

JONATHAN: No, son, I don’t. I want you to use your head instead of your fists.

CLARK: A man stands up for himself.

JONATHAN: Know all about bein’ a man, huh? Does a man hurt people weaker than himself? (beat) Well, boy, does he?

Clark doesn’t answer; his chance to is cut off when Rose Greer dashes out into the road, right in front of the truck.

JONATHAN: (surprised) Holy!


Jonathan hits the brakes just in time to avoid a collision. Rose wastes no time crossing over to Jonathan’s side of the vehicle, panic clearly etched across her face.

ROSE GREER: (panicked) Oh God, Jonathan! You have to help me! Please — help!

JONATHAN: (climbs out of truck) Rose! What’s wrong‽

ROSE GREER: The house, Jonathan! It’s the house! The house is on fire and Bud’s trapped! Bud’s trapped inside and I can’t get him out!

Looking into the fields beside the road, Jonathan sees a two-storey house situated in the distance; it is ablaze, a trail of dark gray smoke billowing straight up from it into the clear sky.

JONATHAN: Jesus. (beat) Stay here, Rose. Watch Clark.

Jonathan takes off in a dash for the burning house, leaving Rose and Clark by the truck.


Bursting through the front door, Jonathan finds the air heavy with smoke. Instantly assaulted by the miasma, Jonathan pulls out a handkerchief and holds it over his mouth and nose.

JONATHAN: Bud! Bud, where the hell are you‽

A WAIL of anguish comes down the stairs from the second storey, where the fire is burning its worst.

JONATHAN: Just hold on, Bud! I’m coming!

Crossing to the stairs, Jonathan dashes up the steps.


Passing through the licking orange flames and greasy smoke, Jonathan steps inside the Greer bedroom. Inside, struggling upon the floor, is Bud Greer. The inferno having compromised its structural integrity, the roof on this side of the house has caved in; a wooden beam lies across Bud’s legs, pinning him to the floor.

BUD GREER: (panicked) AAAAHHH!!! Lord help me! I’m stuck!

Coming to Bud’s aid, Jonathan lays his hands upon the beam and tries pulling it up and away from the trapped man.

JONATHAN: (groans) I can’t budge her, Greer! (beat) I’m gonna try to reach underneath and pull your legs out!

Jonathan reaches under the beam and takes hold of one of Bud’s legs and begins working to pry it loose. At that very moment, fiery debris rains down in the hall outside the bedroom. In response, Bud grabs Jonathan, pulling him close in desperation.

BUD GREER: Oh, Jesus! Hurry, Kent! The flames! Please —!

JONATHAN: (grits teeth) Alright, Bud, you gotta let go….

BUD GREER: The flames are getting closer!

JONATHAN: (frustrated) Shut up, Greer!

Pulling at Bud’s legs, Jonathan finally manages to dislodge them. Pulling the man up onto his feet, Jonathan makes haste for the stairs.


Rose and Clark have come down the driveway and now stand at a safe distance away from the house. Rose holds Clark’s hand, both worried as the small building is consumed. Jonathan and Bud then finally emerge from the burning wreckage. Moving away from the intense heat, they drop down into the grass — coughing, exhausted, and dirty, but alive.

CLARK: (concerned) Pa?

JONATHAN: (coughs) I’m okay, son. (coughs) We’re okay.

Clark is amazed by his father’s show of selfless heroism.


Doubt thou the stars are fire,
Doubt that the sun doth move,
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt I love.



We have jumped forward a year. Jonathan and Clark are now in their front yard, working on repairs to the Model T. A farm jack precariously propping up the rear end of the vehicle, Jonathan lies beneath the vehicle’s undercarriage, working away while Clark sits out before him, crouched down low with a toolbox beside him.

JONATHAN: Alright, hand me the wrench.

Reaching into the toolbox, Clark fishes around until he finds the wrench and hands it to his father. Opening the front door, Martha steps out onto the porch.

MARTHA: Time to get yourselves inside and washed up, boys. Supper’s on.

JONATHAN: (sighs) I guess we’re calling it a night, Clark. (beat) It looks like rain. Pick the tools up and put the box in the cab.

Collecting the loose tools, Clark takes up the toolbox, crosses to the right side of the truck, and opens the door. That action is enough to pop the jack loose. Registering the imminent danger, Clark reacts automatically; in a blur of motion, he dashes over to the back end of the truck, grabs the underside of the bed, and holds it there in place, preventing the vehicle from collapsing onto Jonathan and crushing him.

CLARK: Got it, Pa! (pained) Can’t hold it….

Jonathan scrambles out from beneath the truck, his small son straining to hold up a vehicle the elder Kent couldn’t even begin to lift under his own power. Once Jonathan is clear, Clark lets go, allowing the rear of the truck to slam down. Martha just stands there on the porch, flabbergasted.


Jonathan sits on the sofa while Martha paces about the room, restless and irate.

MARTHA: (cont’d) For a whole year you’ve known! A whole year!

JONATHAN: I was planning on telling you, Martha….

MARTHA: (stops in mid-stride; faces Jonathan) Really? That date wouldn’t have coincided with Clark’s 18th birthday by any chance, now, would it?

JONATHAN: What should I have said, Martha? “Honey, a bull trampled our son into the earth this afternoon, but don’t you worry, ‘cause our boy’s a modern age Achilles; he got right back up without so much as a scratch on him.”? (beat) I wanted to give it some time, figure out a way to break the news to you gently, to … to avoid a reaction.

MARTHA: (taps foot impatiently) What type of reaction?

JONATHAN: (frowns) This type of reaction, exactly! (beat) I figured on telling you sooner, but I guess the time just got away from me….

Sighing, Martha lets her frustration go. She takes a seat beside her husband on the sofa.

MARTHA: But this is the first time Clark … did this?

JONATHAN: He certainly wasn’t a Hercules in miniature last year, I can tell you.

Her features creased with worry, Martha takes Jonathan’s hands in hers.

MARTHA: First invulnerability, then superhuman strength. By God, Jonathan, what if this is only the beginning? What if Clark develops more abilities? What if he becomes … what is our son going to become?

JONATHAN: He’ll be our son, Martha, come what may. Trust in that.


We have jumped forward to 1925. Martha sets a plate of scrambled eggs and crisp bacon down on the dining room table as Clark hurries past in single-minded purpose for the front door.

MARTHA: Where are you going, Clark?

CLARK: I’m running late, Ma.

MARTHA: (bemused) You surely have enough time to sit down and —

In a blink of an eye, Clark is gone — along with the bacon and eggs which had moments before been resting upon the now-cleared plate.

MARTHA: (cont’d) Eat your breakfast. (sighs)


A motorcyclist rides along the main road into Smallville. As a railway crossing appears ahead, he notices a locomotive bearing down on it, and so decides to put the pedal to the metal to beat it. As the motorcyclist zooms on ahead, leaning forward into the artificial wind, Clark comes up alongside him. Noticing Clark out of the corner of his eye, he does a double take. Though Clark is only riding his mere bicycle, by pedalling at super speed, he’s able to keep pace with the motorcyclist.

As the two riders close in upon the crossing, Clark puts on an extra bit of speed; like a shot from a gun, he leaves the motorcyclist eating his dust, clearing the track in an instant. By the time the locomotive comes barrelling down the track, forcing the motorcyclist to hit his breaks and wait out the train’s passing, Clark’s already one-eighth of a mile into the distance.


We have jumped forward to 1926. Clark is seated at his desk, doing homework, when Jonathan appears in the door.

JONATHAN: Hey there, Clark.

CLARK: (faces Jonathan) Hey, Pa. What is it?

JONATHAN: I was hoping you’d take some time out of your schedule to help your fool pop find his glasses again.

CLARK: No problem. (looks down and squints)


The carpeted floor disappears beneath Clark, affording him a view of the floors on the storey beneath him. Zooming it, he focuses in on the living room sofa. The sofa cushions themselves grow transparent, revealing Jonathan’s glasses wedged between them.


CLARK: They’re between the sofa cushions.

JONATHAN: Glasses are more trouble than they’re worth, son. Count your blessings you’ll never have to wear the damned things.


We have jumped forward to 1927. Clark is running through the woods, blue-merled Shelby — his four-month-old puppy — tagging along beside him. As they emerge through the trees, they come to the edge of a large, deep ravine. Though Shelby stops in her tracks, Clark takes a running leap clear across the ravine.

CLARK: Yahoo!

Landing on the other side, Clark turns to Shelby. The puppy begins BARKING, despondent that she can’t follow her master.


We have jumped forward to 1928. In the lab room, the science teacher sits behind his desk, beady eyes trained on his twelve students.

SCIENCE TEACHER: (cont’d) Twenty-five multiple-choice questions. You may begin now.

As Clark gets ready to start his test, he can suddenly hear the minute sounds all around him, each and every rustle of paper, pencil scrape, bodily function, and shuffle of body parts and clothing amplified to a staggering degree to form a loud cacophony. Narrowing his eyes, rubbing his left temple, Clark concentrates on tuning out the extraneous sounds. Once he has achieved some measure of success, he begins filling out the questions on his paper.

Doubt thou the stars are fire,
Doubt that the sun doth move,
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt I love.




Jonathan Kent is out in one of his fields, at work removing a large boulder embedded in the ground. Working with a long pry bar, he struggles to uproot the stubborn boulder. Though a virile man still, Jonathan is beginning to show the signs of age; his blond hair is starting to fade to a pale gray and he now wears his glasses on a permanent basis.

As Jonathan sweats and strains against the boulder, Clark walks up to him, his red-haired dog Rusty — son of Shelby — running circles about his heels. Nearly eighteen years old, Clark has grown into a strapping young man — tall, broad-shouldered, and rustically handsome.


JONATHAN: (busy) Hrm?

CLARK: Can I help?

Struggling with the pry bar for a few more seconds, Jonathan finally gives the futile effort up. Taking off the hat he’s wearing, he wipes his moist brow, SIGHING with exasperation.

JONATHAN: (steps back) You’re gonna need something for leverage, son.

Stepping up to the boulder, Clark reaches under and uproots it, holding it aloft with one hand effortlessly. This is a Clark who wouldn’t struggle lifting the rear of the Model T now.

CLARK: Where do you want it?

JONATHAN: (smiles) Let’s take it to the barn, around back.

Leaving the field, they take the boulder behind the barn, where Clark gently sets it down on the ground. With a few short whacks, he splits the boulder up into smaller chunks to be hauled away later.

CLARK: Is it alright if I head off to the park? I was hoping to meet the gang there.

JONATHAN: All your chores done?

CLARK: Uh-huh.

JONATHAN: Then what do you need my permission for? (claps Clark on back) School starts tomorrow. Make the most of these precious few hours.

CLARK: (grins) Thanks, Pa.

JONATHAN: Just don’t be late getting back for supper.

CLARK: Am I ever?

Before Jonathan can reply, Clark is gone in a flash. Shaking his head, Jonathan takes his hat and slaps a boulder chunk with it, smiling.


It is a sunny, late Labor Day afternoon. Though most visitors have retired home for the coming evening, several people are still present, playing games, flying kites, talking, reading, or just sitting and milling about.

Dropping out of super speed, Clark arrives on the park outskirts, well out of view of anyone. Checking his clothes over to make certain they are neat and clean, he proceeds onward, walking at a leisurely pace. He soon spots Lana and Pete. Like Clark, they, too, have matured into young adults. Pete is tall, almost as tall as Clark, just as handsome, but lanky in build. Lana, shorter than the two boys but still tall for a lady, is a beauty with large, thick-lashed eyes, full cheeks, and full, pink lips, a large congregation of freckles covering her exposed skin only adding to her natural beauty. Sharing a bench, the pair are deep in conversation, too busy to notice Clark.

CLARK: (waves) Lana! Pete!

Noticing Clark, they rise from the bench. Clark joins them.

PETE: (claps Clark on arm) Glad to see you made it out today, fella.

CLARK: Summer break’s almost over. Like my pa said, “Make the most of these precious few hours.” (beat) Brought the pigskin?

LANA: (brings out football) bien sûr.

Heading out to a clear area on the grass, the three begin playing catch.

PETE: (tosses ball to Lana) Returning to the Torch again this year, Lana?

LANA: (catches ball) Returning to this question again this year, Pete?

Lana tosses the ball to Clark, who tosses it back to Pete.

PETE: (catches ball) Well, yeah. This is senior year. (tosses ball to Lana)

LANA: (catches ball) So? (tosses ball to Pete)

PETE: (catches ball) You’ve been editor-in-chief of the school paper three years straight. Don’t you wanna give something fun a run your final year? (tosses ball to Clark)

CLARK: (catches ball) Working on the Torch is plenty fun, Pete. (tosses ball to Lana)

PETE: You think milking cows is fun, Kent.

LANA: You’d rather I try out for cheerleading? (tosses ball to Pete)

PETE: (catches ball) Getting dolled up in a cute number? Hoofing it for the boys on the field? Flashing those grand gams of yours? A mite niftier than sitting on your keister in a cramped, fusty office, getting an edge off mimeograph fumes, I can tell you. (tosses ball to Clark)

LANA: Sorry, Pete. Tried that freshman year; didn’t take to it. (intercepts ball)


LANA: (to Clark) Go long.

Jogging out, Clark spreads his arms high. Lana sends the football sailing through the air; Clark just barely misses it. He goes to retrieve the ball.

LANA: (to Pete) Though if you want to admire my grand gams, you need only ask.

As Clark returns with the ball, Lana hikes the hem of her skirt up to her thigh, affording both boys a lingering look at one long, shapely, creamy leg.

CLARK: (drops football) Hot damn!

Flashing a sexy grin, Lana drops her skirt back in place.


A couple hours later.

With the sun beginning to set, the three call it a day. Giving their farewells, they part to return home.


Returning from the park, Clark crosses past the barn on his way to the house.

KENNY: (O.C.) Hey, Clark! Clark, up here!

Stopping, Clark turns and looks up to the barn. He can just make out Kenny standing in the loft’s open door.


Clark climbs the ladder to the loft, where he finds Kenny sitting in a wooden chair by the loft door, casually sipping from a bottle of root beer as he looks out, seemingly a million miles away. As tall as Pete but even leaner, he’d look handsome if he wasn’t so painfully thin.

Turning to Clark, the black teenager hoists up a small carrying case of root beer.

KENNY: Have one.

Clark silently takes one of the bottles. Placing his thumbnail under the rim of the metal cap, he pops it off with one flick of his thumb.

KENNY: I still haven’t learned how you do that.

CLARK: Trade secret.

KENNY: You out with Pete and Lana?

CLARK: At the park, yeah.

KENNY: (looks out loft door) Those were the days, weren’t they? Just us four, running wild all summer-long, day and night. (beat) Your folks always understood. My dad never did.

Clark takes a seat in a second chair beside Kenny.

CLARK: (takes sip) How’s your pa? Doing any better?

KENNY: Worse. A lot worse. (takes sip) I won’t be coming back this year, Clark.

CLARK: (frowns) What do you mean, won’t be coming back?

KENNY: I’ll be needed at the gas station full-time now. I won’t have time for school anymore.

CLARK: Ken, this is our senior year. Graduation’s this spring.

KENNY: And I know you’ll make it — with flying colours. (finishes bottle) Keep the rest. It’s yours.

Morose, Kenny rises and crosses over to the ladder.


Kenny arrives home. The Braverman home is a cottage in shabby, weather-beaten, but otherwise alright condition.


Within the confines of the cottage living room we finding ROGER BRAVERMAN sitting in a threadbare armchair, a bottle of moonshine cradled in his lap, listening to the Carter Family’s “I’m Thinking Tonight of My Blue Eyes” as it plays tinily from the radio in the room. Eyelids droopy, lower lip hanging low, nose misshapen, chin unshaven, and frame and features positively skeletal, he is a homely man. His bleary eyes are quite yellow, but that could be due to the dirty lighting afforded by the living room’s sole fly-specked light bulb.

As Kenny enters the cottage, he reluctantly steps into the living room doorway and stands there, watching his father for a sign of acknowledgement. Taking a long sip from his bottle, Roger takes a gander at his son. Spitting a stream of saliva through the gap in his bottom front teeth, he returns to watching nothing.


Entering the kitchen, Kenny begins preparing supper. As he is retrieving the cookware, he halts, rests fingers against his mouth, then steps back out of the kitchen.


Kenny has returned to the doorway. Roger has slipped into a doze. The bottle, held limply now in his hands, begins to tilt precariously forward, threatening to spill its contents. Kenny strides up to the armchair and stills the bottle. This action is enough to jolt Roger out of his light slumber. Thinking his son is trying to steal his bottle, the ugliness of Roger’s face deepens with a scowl as he slaps Kenny hard against the face. Kenny rears back. Roger stares hard at Kenny for several long seconds, then falls back into unconsciousness.


Kenny enters his bedroom. Unlike the rest of the home, this room is kept clean and relatively tidy, though there are books everywhere, hardcover and paperback, fiction and non-fiction. Closing his door behind him, he strides up to his desk. Opening the top drawer, he reveals the revolver nestled inside.

Withdrawing the revolver, he pulls back the hammer, aiming it at the bedroom door, in the direction of his father. As Kenny keeps the barrel of the gun trained in that direction, his face twists with deep-seated loathing, his hand and arm beginning to violently shake with suppressed rage.

Doubt thou the stars are fire,
Doubt that the sun doth move,
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt I love.


Doubt thou the stars are fire,
Doubt that the sun doth move,
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt I love.


Doubt thou the stars are fire,
Doubt that the sun doth move,
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt I love.


Doubt thou the stars are fire,
Doubt that the sun doth move,
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt I love.


Thanks for the praise.

Doubt thou the stars are fire,
Doubt that the sun doth move,
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt I love.


Doubt thou the stars are fire,
Doubt that the sun doth move,
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt I love.


Doubt thou the stars are fire,
Doubt that the sun doth move,
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt I love.


DuracellEnergizer said:

Since reading Superman: Secret Identity, I’ve decided to depict Kryptonian abilities as mostly psionic in nature (heat vision as a form of pyrokinesis, x-ray vision and super hearing as forms of clairvoyance, etc.). To reflect this new direction, I’ve altered some of the descriptions of Clark & co’s powers.

I love Secret Identity!

Also, I guess it’s too late at this point to hope for a Legion appearance 😉. In seriousness, keep up the good work!

Collipso is free!


suspiciouscoffee said:

Also, I guess it’s too late at this point to hope for a Legion appearance 😉.

Not a big Legion fan, sorry to say.

In seriousness, keep up the good work!

Thanks. I hope on returning to this script soon.

Doubt thou the stars are fire,
Doubt that the sun doth move,
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt I love.



Doubt thou the stars are fire,
Doubt that the sun doth move,
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt I love.


Doubt thou the stars are fire,
Doubt that the sun doth move,
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt I love.